Troubled Waters
by catzlovecheeze
Summary: "I don't remember how old I was when I died. The only thing I remember, now, of my old life, is how the moon looked from underwater. Almost...corrupt." BENDROWNED onshot. My first creepypasta fic. Oneshot!


I don't remember how old I was when I died.

I just know that I did die.

The last thing I remember is fighting, fighting to get to the surface, to the cold night air, to breathe and feel the burn in my lungs, the empty, cold, dry, burn that meant I would be okay. But instead, I could fight it no longer and gasped instinctively for air, and my lungs filled, cold, but full and heavy and black and wet and choking, and my head hurt and exploded and everything went black. I also remember it was cold, but I can't remember what that cold felt like. I also remember the full moon, how it was unnaturally big that night, and how odd it was that night. I went swimming often, in the summer, and the moon always seemed watery and wavy from underwater, distorted to a degree, but always peaceful.

That night, from underwater, the moon was still watery and wavy, but not at all peaceful. Not even distorted. It could be described as distorted, I suppose, but there's a better word. I just can't think of it…

Oh yes.

Corrupted. That's the word I was looking for.

Maybe it was because it was winter. Maybe because I had never swam there before, never seen the moon through that water before. Maybe because the moon was so abnormally large that night.

Maybe it was because I was dying.

Whatever it was, it doesn't matter now.

I didn't remember my life when I first came into…here. I didn't remember anything for a very long time. For a long time after my death, I was in darkness constantly. I couldn't really do anything. I could think, to an extent, but that was pretty much it. I couldn't breathe (which didn't cause me any pain, since I was dead, but it was still strange), or see anything but black. I couldn't move, it was if I didn't even have a body. I couldn't speak, or hear anything. I wonder if I had been able to speak, could I have heard myself? In short, could I not hear, or was there just nothing for me to hear? I couldn't feel, first just physically, but quickly, emotionally too. First I could feel fear, then terror, then sadness, then overpowering grief. That was the worst. I remember that I felt like my heart had been torn out, but I can't recall what that felt like, only that that is what it felt like. (Much like the water when I was drowning. I know it was cold, but I can't remember what that cold felt like). I can't call back the feeling, can't experience it again. I have tried. I think it would be nice to know that I can feel _something_, anything.

Too bad I can't.

Eventually, the pain that had grown and grown faded and faded. When it had grown, it had used everything up, so that when it was gone, there was nothing left to feel.

At first it was almost a relief, a painkiller, anesthesia. But I soon learned it wasn't better. Maybe it was even worse. When it felt like my heart had been ripped out, at least I knew I once had a heart. Now I couldn't know. Did I ever even have a heart?

The fear kept me conscious, alert. I still knew I existed with fear.

Pain is what began killing me. My mind wandered, became heavy, sluggish, like a towel dipped in a swamp. Sour and slow is how I worked, while being dragged under by pain. The pain wasn't excruciating. If it had been, I would have been more alert, my 'fight or flight' response triggered. The pain was terrible, unbearable, but numbing, in a way. I suppose one way to say how it was numbing is that it made me feel…not sleepy, but tired, exhausted, even.

It was the beginning of my second death. But with pain, I could still feel myself, know that I existed.

With nothing, there was no proof to know I existed. Did I exist anymore? Had I ever existed? I had my thoughts, though. That comforted me some. To me, my thoughts were proof that I had existed once. I still existed in my thoughts, even if my body did not exist anymore. Even if I could not feel, I had thoughts. Proof that I was there, that I was somewhere.

I said before that I could think-to an extent. It was very hard to think. My brain was now slow and heavy and thick. I could feel a heaviness pressing on my brain every time I tried to think. It hurt, like I was trying too hard to think while tired.

I started to only think when absolutely necessary. But that made life pretty boring. So I started to sleep in between, further doping myself into painless existence.

I slowly began to lose my mind.

I think I finally lost my grip, which had been weakening for a long, long time, when I lost my thoughts.

And so I sank into the waters of insanity.

Insanity wasn't like drowning. Certainly, I went under and could not resurface, but I sank, wasn't trapped. I didn't fight. I didn't know to fight. I couldn't feel my hand slip, my grip fail me. I couldn't think enough to register that I was falling through the air, that I was hitting the water.

I did know when I was sinking.

But then it was too late.

Even if I had known, I don't know if I would have fought it. Sleep and thoughtless non-sleep were cold.

And insanity was warm.

Remember how I said I knew when I was sinking? That is because insanity made it easier to think. I felt like my head had been cleared, but in reality, it was like clay. Fate had tried to make a sculpture out of two different colors, but they got mixed together. They became more and more mixed, and instead of getting new, fresh clay, fate mixed them together, more and more, life and death, yellow and blue, to form an entirely new color, that was neither yellow nor blue, life nor death, but yet both at the same time.

Green.

That was the color of my insanity.

Then fate rolled the jagged clay into a smooth ball again.

The beginning of my insanity. A fresh start, a clean slate, a different color.

Then fate began shaping me once more.

As my insanity progressed, I became…this. I don't even know how. I remember that I could think, but I don't remember what I thought about. I could not recall it to save my life. All I know is that I felt…giddy. I could feel emotions again. Insanity was a clean slate in a different color.

I still had no memory. But that changed.

Somewhere in time, in space, a change occurred. I believe it happened one day when I was ranting nonsense in my mind. I can recall this because of the profound new path my life took immediately afterwards. Like you can remember exactly what you were doing when someone admitted they liked you, or when someone pushed you down. Strong emotions strengthen our memory of that moment. Also, that was all I did after my…transformation.

My world was flooded with light.

I could see something other than black for the first time in so long.

I was temporarily blinded, though my eyes were filled with light, not dark.

And I remembered something.

Something from a long time ago.

I whispered to myself, in a not long-unused, but long-lost voice, four little words, as my eyes adjusted and I could finally see.

"My name is Ben."

So, this is a new type of story for me! Please tell me what you thought! I will adore you forever!

This is about BENDROWNED, btw.

Review pretty pretty please with an ocarina on top!

(that doesn't make any sense, does is...)


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